


Say Goodbye

by SirKris



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: -Ish, Angst, F/M, I'm no good with tags sorry, It's a bit sad, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, Songfic, Tumblr Prompt, but has a happy ending, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirKris/pseuds/SirKris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock tries not to say goodbye to Molly before his exile, not even after he might have a reason to when he comes back.</p><p>Songfic for 'Four walls' - Little Mix</p><p>A/N: Sorry for the terrible summary. And I don't own the lyrics</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Tumblr songfic prompt to the song "Four Walls" by Little Mix with a happy ending. The song is beautiful, and tragic, so it was a bit difficult fulfilling the 'happy ending' bit but I tried :)

**_I feel so numb_ **

**_Staring at the shower wall_ **

 

Maybe she should have called in sick today. It wasn’t just an ordinary day for her friends, for her.

She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was blurry from the steam from the shower, though she already knew her eyes must still be red from crying.

 

**_It’s begun,_ **

**_The feeling that the end has come_ **

**_And now the water’s cold_ **

 

She knew she counted, and it meant the world to her that he called, but she didn’t know if it would have been better if he hadn’t. She tear tried to fall down her cheek but she stubbornly wiped it away.

"It’s fine," she insisted to herself. "I’m fine."

With that new resolve, she got the courage to leave the bathroom.

 

**_I tried to eat today_ **

**_But the lump in my throat got in the way_ **

 

She walked to the dining table and stared her abandoned cup of coffee on her table. It’s probably cooled by now. ’Black, two sugars.’

She grimaced slightly at the memory. It was starting already, dredging up memories of a loved one, as if he was already gone. She grabbed the cup and dumped it in the sink. She considered taking a fruit with her, but decided she wasn’t hungry.

Toby brushed her legs slightly on her way out. She bent down to stroke his head before closing the door behind her. And so she began the first day of the rest of her life without him.

 

* * *

 

**_In this time I’ve lost all sense of pride_ **

**_I’ve called a hundred times_ **

**_If I hear your voice I’ll be fine_ **

 

He called her last night.

In all the years they had never known each other, he never had or ever intended to.

'I prefer to text,' he once told her. 'Don't call me, I won't pick up, nor should you expect me to ever call. If it's important, I will text.'

It was an unrealistic condition, especially as they got closer over the years. He assumed it would happen one day, but never expected he would be the one to initiate it.

He didn’t have much time before his phone was confiscated forever. He had been in captivity for almost 2 weeks since shooting Magnussen. New Years had come and gone, but he hadn’t called her, not really.

There were times where he believed he had, only to realize his mind was playing tricks with him. The longer he delayed it, the harder it was to actually do it. What made it harder was the reason why he wanted to hear her voice. Now he only had two hours and forty-seven minutes to do something about it.

He let out a breath as he brought the phone to his ear. It felt like an eternity as the phone rang on; he half-hoped she wouldn’t answer, until she did.

"Hello? Sherlock?"

He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

"Sorry, I wasn’t sure if it was you—" She took a deep breath.

"—It’s just that, you’ve never called."

"I know."

"Okay." He heard her shift around uncomfortably and realized he might have missed something. Suddenly he remembered.

"Oh, um. Hi."

"Hi." He heard the smile behind that, and relaxed slightly.

"John told me," she began. "About your mission I mean."

Sherlock flinched at her words. He knew he should have told her.

"It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to tell me anyway."

He could hear her trying to smile it off, but he knew she was sad. He was starting too see he did that too often. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what to do, so he remained silent.

"You’re not coming back this time, are you?"

"I’m afraid not. You can only save me so many times I suppose, " he joked.

"Don’t make jokes Sherlock. You’re as bad as I am." He heard her chuckle and his chest warmed up with relief.

"So" she continued, some ounce of brightness came back to her voice. "What do you need?"

"You—" he began before correcting himself. "—to talk. Talk about anything."

"I don’t know what to talk about."

"The weather?" he offered.

"That’s mundane. You don’t like mundane."

"Mundane can be good."

"How about autopsies?"

He smiled at her suggestion. “That works.”

So she did talk about autopsies, and the weather, and anything else that came to mind. As they talked, he tried to build up the courage to tell her.

Eventually they fell into a comfortable silence although he still didn’t want to end it. But he was desperate, and so came forward with himself.

"I wasn’t sorry." He blurted out.

"What?"

"That your engagement is over. I meant what I said."

"Sherlock wait—"

"I realize now that my interest and remarks about you and your romantic developments weren’t entirely platonic concerns."

Her silence was difficult to interpret. He knew it wouldn’t change anything, and if it did it would be for the worse, but he wanted to try.

"I know it’s selfish to say it now, but Molly I—"

"Wait, don’t." she interrupted. He could hear her voice break.

"Not now, not like this. I can’t—" she choked back a sob. His chest constricted at the pain in her voice.

"It’s fine. You don’t have to do this. It’s probably your mortality speaking."

"It’s not—"

"Please." She begged.

He fell silent. She was right. He knew it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t do that to her. He could shoulder it as his punishment for taking too long.

"Okay."

He wracked his mind to diffuse the tense silence that followed but was interrupted by reality.

"Your time is almost up Mr. Holmes." Sherlock looked up to see the guard reaching out for the phone. "I have one more minute," he retorted back. Inside he was panicking. Had so much time passed? He relaxed slightly when the guard took a step back.

"Sherlock?" He shut his eyes as he savored the sound of his name through her voice.

"Yes, Molly?"

"I’m glad you called me. I will miss you."

His next words got stuck in his throat and so he nodded, even though he knew she wouldn’t see it.

"I guess this is goodbye then?" She didn’t try to sound cheerful that time.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He didn’t want to finalize the conversation anymore than was possible. So he chose to be selfish one more time.

"Can you hang up first? For me."

He felt a bit proud when she didn’t hesitate. It would have hurt more if she had lingered. For that, he was thankful. He reluctantly gave up his last form of communication and sat in darkness as he let the regret creep into his heart.

 

* * *

 

**_And I, I can’t come alive_ **

**_I want the room to take me under_ **

**_'Cause I can't help but wonder_ **

**_What if I had one more night for goodbye?_ **

 

The work wasn’t a good distraction for her after all. She was back to thinking about last night. She didn’t sleep; how could she after that call?

She didn’t take offense to his last request though. She knew he was sad; that’s why he called in the first place right? It was easier to believe this than to consider what he had tried to say.

She glanced up at the clock. He should have left by now. Sighing, she walked back to her office and stopped short at the door. She looked on in horror as Moriarty’s face was playing on her computer screen. What scared her most was the foreign blinking she soon noticed under the desk.

She ran as far as she could to get away, but the disaster followed after her, and soon darkness engulfed everything.

 

**_If you’re not here to turn the lights off I can’t sleep_ **

**_These four walls and me_ **

 

* * *

 

One of the first things he made sure to do after exiting was to call the plane. Everyone else had been accounted for after the broadcast except her. Why wasn’t she picking up? The car ride was mostly silent as they left the airstrip, until Mycroft picked up a call.

The uncertain glance his brother threw him told him everything.

"Tell me."

"Before I explain—"

He shut his eyes hard in frustration.

"Just. Say it."

"A bomb was detonated at Barts."

His eyes flew open and searched his brother’s face for the lie. There was none. Something fell away inside at the realization, and it was rapidly being replaced by fear.

"And—" he had to swallow painfully. He just wanted to retreat into his mind and shut everything out, but he needed to know.

"—and the source?"

He didn’t miss the hesitation in his voice when he said it.

"The morgue."

 

* * *

 

**_I lay in bed_ **

**_Can’t seem to leave your side_ **

 

He stayed in the hospital. They wouldn’t let anyone visit, but an exception was made for him, on the condition that he didn’t touch her.

It was more than he could have asked for. The sentimental war going on in his head was overwhelming. His anger and guilt was festering into and rage and despair.

It was for all that happened, and despair for all that would. He knew he should try to shut it out. Sentiment would be obsolete in the cause to catch the criminal. But he didn’t want to, nor could he even if he wanted to.

 

**_Your pillow’s wet_ **

**_From all these tears I’ve cried_ **

**_I won’t say goodbye_ **

 

His eyes were shut as he sat quietly beside her. The slow beeping of the monitors in the room was the only reassurance she was in the room, that she wasn’t gone yet.

He would look for him tomorrow. For that night, he would let the regret consume him.

 

* * *

 

**_In this time I’ve lost all sense of pride_ **

**_I’ve called a thousand times_ **

**_If I hear your voice I’ll be fine_ **

 

He called her every day now. He promised himself he would after his return and so he did, even if wasn’t in the way he wanted.

'Hi! You've reached Molly Hooper's home. I'm sorry I missed your call. I'm probably busy…or sleeping…or busy sleeping. Anyway, if it's urgent, try my mobile; I always have it with me. Otherwise leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon I can. Thanks!'

Sherlock hung up, and called again.

'Hi! You've reached Molly Hooper's home. I'm sorry I missed your call. I'm probably busy…or sleeping…or busy sleeping. Anyway, if it's urgent, try my mobile; I always have it with me. Otherwise leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon I can. Thanks!'

He never left a message—there was no point—for he knew she wasn’t home. It didn’t stop him from calling. It was almost a routine now, as it was the only way he could hear her voice.

Moriarty had come too close to burning his heart out. She was alive, but she wasn’t waking up. She could come back today or tomorrow, or never at all. He focused on the positive aspect of the prognosis.

He called again, this time while facing her. The burns had long healed, and most of the scars were fading; the problem had been the blow. He reached out to pull back a wisp of her hair. It had grown longer since she last saw him. He saw her almost every day though.

He hung up once more, and took the seat beside her. Barts had always been his home away from home, but she was always at the center. He knew that now.

He wasn’t angry at himself anymore about what happened; that abated after his manhunt for Moriarty. The only reason he didn’t kill the culprit was because he knew the government wouldn’t let him murder twice; he didn’t want to leave her again.

It didn’t mean he forgave himself. Instead he could talk to her, and focus on getting her ready to come back. He read medical journals and publications so she wouldn’t miss much. If he thought it was interesting, he would share his cases. He avoided cases that caused him to leave the city for too long. He wanted to be around if—when she woke up.

And every time he saw her, he ended the visit with the same action. He would kiss her forehead and ask her for one thing.

"Don’t let me say goodbye."

 

* * *

 

He found himself at her flat on the days he needed to sleep. Her scent wasn’t gone yet, and he found that being there was reassuring. It was enough to get by.

He turned on the bed and faced her side. It wasn’t difficult to imagine her there; he had watched her sleep when he used the room as a bolt hole. He was afraid of forgetting her warm brown eyes, so he imagined her just looking back at him, smiling.

If she spoke, it was always a playback of their last conversation. It hurt to remember, but it was so much better than the silence.

The phone suddenly interrupted his reminiscence. He got up suddenly and scrambled to reach for it. He never allowed anyone to call him unless it was about her.

"John, what is it?"

"It’s Molly…"

 

* * *

 

**_And I, I can’t come alive_ **

**_I want the room to take me under_ **

**_'Cause I can't help but wonder_ **

**_What if I had one more night for goodbye?_ **

 

His heart thundered as he made his way down the familiar halls of the hospital. It took everything in him to remember not to run to her room.

John and Mary were surrounding her bedside. He walked slowly towards the foot of the bed as they moved back for him to see her.

Molly’s eyes were open and they were crinkled into a slight smile. She looked tired, and the smile was weak, but it was as genuine as he had ever seen.

Now that she was here he was almost at a loss of what to say. Eventually he managed to think of something.

"Hi."

"Hi," she whispered.

Mary quietly tugged John out of the room. He barely noticed as he focused his gaze on her. He was almost afraid to blink, lest he finds out it was a hallucination, and that she wasn’t back again.

"I…"

He could tell she was having a difficult time articulating, so he shook his head to discourage it, but she relented.

"I…heard…you."

He smiled warmly down at her. He was aware that his eyes stung, but emotional vulnerability was the least of his concerns at the moment.

He took the familiar seat beside the bed and held her hand. It was faint, but she managed to squeeze. He brought her fingers up to his cheek and gently squeezed back.

"Welcome back," he choked out. God, he was so happy to see her eyes again.

"You…too."

They let him stay overnight that day. Like his other visits, he talked to her. Talking made her tired, so he insisted she just listen. He could wait to hear her again tomorrow. He was content seeing her eyes react; it was so much more than he had gotten in such a long time.

He only stopped speaking when she began to doze off. He watched her eventually shut her eyes, but he wasn’t sad about it anymore. She would open her eyes tomorrow. That guarantee was enough to let him relax. While still holding her hand, he lay his head beside the bed and let himself sleep.

 

**_If you’re not here to turn the lights off I can’t sleep_ **

**_These four walls and me_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I sat on this story for days because I didn't like how I wrote it and I couldn't figure out why *sigh* 
> 
> So sorry if I didn't do the song justice.


End file.
